


tunnels

by thanks_tacos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Escape, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Slave Dean Winchester, a bit? i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:07:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanks_tacos/pseuds/thanks_tacos
Summary: On his way to work in the claustrophobic tunnels, Dean finds a feather.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester
Comments: 30
Kudos: 73





	tunnels

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt **feathers** i got from [fledhyris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris). i wasn't sure whether to post it or not, but i was given some amazing feedback that motivated me. hope someone enjoys this drabble! :)

On his way to work in the claustrophobic tunnels, Dean finds a feather. 

It lays on the ground, right on his path. Dean feels a jolt of panic at first, but there’s no one around to see him, and no cameras, not in the tunnels.

He crouches low and picks it up, and rotates it in his fingers, the light from his head lamp revealing its shape and color. It's black, and it shines like the hologram stickers the asshole guards wear on their uniforms. Dean likes that shine; it's like spilt gasoline, and it makes him yearn for a car, for a road, for an  _ escape _ .

This right here is what the guards have been looking for for the past week. Feathers that the angel left behind mean a trail, mean he’s around, and that could be his ticket to-

Not freedom, but  _ something.  _ He could trade it for something. For a split second, Dean imagines getting to work in the garage instead of the mines, or getting a good, long shower, or getting a whole loaf of bread that he’d portion for a month. Those are nice dreams, but they’re just dreams. He knows it. He’s nothing. Alastair or other masters would just take the feather from him and maybe even hurt him for his effort. Suggest he knows where the angel is. At best, Alastair would praise him, because for whatever reason, he has a soft spot for him. But that’s almost as bad as the whip.

The feather is devoid of any blood, and so soft. So pure. Nothing down here is, and Dean’s entranced by its otherworldliness, by its beauty. 

He tucks it into the pocket of his ratty jeans. He could pretend it’s a logical decision; going to the masters would mean trouble, even if he helped them find the angel. Best to act like nothing happened. But the truth is - Dean feels special, for the first time in forever, he, a weak, emaciated slave, good for menial work and nothing else -  _ he  _ found what the demons have spent a week looking for.

He continues down the tunnel, because his work starts soon and if he doesn’t clock in, they’ll notice and hurt him. He can’t afford to get hurt anymore, cause his left arm is broken, and that means he’s only half-efficient. Slaves that aren’t efficient at all get killed, simple as that.

But all day, swinging the pickaxe in the dark, his muscles shaking from the strain and his eyes stinging from the dust - he feels tentative pride spread through his chest.

On the way back, some slaves take the same route, so he doesn’t risk taking out the feather to admire it. To get to the sleeping barracks - all underground, Dean misses the sun like nothing else - they have to pass through the large main hall, that used to be part of a giant train station, back in the day. The old clock is still there and it still works, reminding non-existing passengers to hop on board in time, but now, next to it, there are hundreds of angel heads. Severed, rotting angel heads, the demons’ prizes. The sight always makes Dean shudder, no matter how many times he’s walked under it. But now, he can’t help a wave of sick satisfaction. His angel is safe, thanks to him. If not for Dean, not any other slave, or a guard, but  _ Dean  _ \- the angel’s head might’ve already hung here among the others. 

He only realizes the extent of his risk - and his fear - when his adrenaline-fueled heart doesn’t let him fall asleep. Usually, he’s out before he even hits the ground. The next day, he’ll take the same route to the mines, he decides.

And he does.

This time, he doesn’t spot a feather. There are many of them, adorning the ground before Dean, all equally black and shiny and perfect. Dean stands shock-still for a few seconds, and then picks them up hastily, stuffs them into his pockets. This is  _ insane _ , and he knows it. This many feathers, someone  _ will _ find him. 

But that means the angel’s here, trapped, trying to escape. And Dean… Dean knows these grounds better than most. 

Up ahead, there’s a soft sound, like a flutter. Dean races to find it, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know what he’ll do, if he does find the angel, but he wants to see him, God, how he wants to see him. 

In one of the nooks of the tunnel, there’s a glimmer of wings. Dean’s breath catches in his throat when he kneels down next to the opening - small, probably why the angel kept losing feathers after squeezing through it - and he looks inside.

The angel looks just like a human, wearing an old, ripped trenchcoat and a suit. Even after his experiences with demons, also preferring a business-like attire, Dean’s surprised to see this. But the wings - oh, the wings. They’re so big, the angel has to keep them folded against his body, and they’re so - they’re so clean. So shiny, they shimmer with the strange colors, so much like the hologram stickers Dean’s been thinking of. But most of all, looking at the angel, Dean feels - peace. He feels a soft sound in his ears, growing and filling him, and it’s like he and the angel are alone in the world. 

The angel spots him, and backs away in the cramped space, and growls.

‘Stay  _ away, _ ’ he orders, even though Dean can hear he’s weak, and scared. Well, so is he.

‘I won’t hurt you, sir,’ Dean bows his head and sneaks inside the small space. It doesn’t turn out to be too small for him - the angel’s just big, mostly cause of the wings. ‘Here,’ Dean takes the feathers out of his pocket, and hands them to the angel. ‘I picked’em up, so they won’t find you.’

The angel eyes his feathers, and him, incomprehensive.

‘You’re a slave?’ he asks, his angry blue eyes turning contemplative. Dean nods, for some reason ashamed. ‘Why are you helping me?’

Dean doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he shrugs.

‘Don’t want you to get caught,’ he replies, sheepishly. He feels dirty in the presence of something so holy.

The angel hums, still staring him down. Dean fidgets under the attention. He should get back to work.

‘I can tell you how to get out,’ he offers. ‘They’re looking for you, but there’s a way.’

‘If you know how to escape, why haven’t you?’ the angel asks suspiciously, a sneer twisting his face. ‘You’re a liar.’

The words sting so much, Dean feels like it’s a physical blow to his chest.

‘I ain’t lyin’,’ he says helplessly. ‘S’just. I’d need wings to get out, you know.’

The angel cocks his head to the side. He glances around and seems to consider his options.

‘If you’re being truthful,’ he says, slowly. ‘I will take you with me.’

Dean blinks. He never had many dreams and aspirations down here; just warmth, food, kindness. Some achievable, others not. But getting out?

‘Why?’ he asks, and he can’t keep the astonishment out of his voice. ‘Why would you do that?’

The angel smiles wryly.

‘I suppose I do not want you to get caught,’ he replies, and before Dean knows it, he’s smiling back. He doesn’t know when was the last time he smiled. Probably when he left the city, one of the few safe places in this demon-festered world. When he waved at Sammy and told him he’d find dad and be back in no time.

He never hoped to see Sam again.

‘Okay,’ Dean says, simply, because what else could he say? The angel nods, and braces himself.

They run through the tunnels, the angel close behind, and they avoid the guards easily. This part is abandoned, deemed unsafe in the past, but Dean knows the right way. Some days, if he wakes up early enough, he manages to sneak out and ends up in the dilapidated room, stretching all the way to the blue sky. It feels like miles to the surface, and Dean thinks it could be. The walls are rocks and earth and way too crumbly to climb; he’d tried. But at least some days, he can look, like a bird stuck in a cage.

‘I’m Castiel,’ the angel tells him, breaking a silence Dean didn’t even notice was there. He’s not used to talking. 

‘Dean,’ he replies, hope blooming in his chest as he watches the angel stretch his wings, readying for a flight. ‘Please don’t leave me here.’

If he got left behind right now, he doesn’t think he could take it.

‘You’re coming with me, Dean,’ Castiel replies, and it sounds soothing. The way he says his name, like it  _ means  _ something. ‘Did you know that before demons overtook this planet, angels were supposed to be human guardians? We’ve been put on this Earth to watch over you.’

Dean doesn’t know what to reply to that. Castiel’s gaze is so intense, it’s like he can see Dean’s bare soul.

‘For the first time in a  _ really long time _ , I find myself able to watch out over someone,’ the angel continues with a gentle smile. Dean didn’t know angels smile. Maybe that’s something that changed, after the war, after the demons. ‘It is a good feeling.’

Dean swallows. His lips are chapped and dry, but once again, he smiles. He thinks of the warm feeling in his chest when he walked through the main hall and knew that because of him, the runaway angel was unharmed. For the first time in ages, he was a protector again.

‘Right?’ he asks - he  _ jokes _ , something he thought he forgot how to do, as well. He almost, almost cowers - surely the angel will hate his impertinence - but he feels safe with him. He feels bathed in his glow, even if it’s not visible, he sure can sense it.

The angel holds out his hand, and Dean grabs it. At once, there’s something traversing through him. It feels like an electric shock, but it’s pleasant. Dean gasps when his left arm tingles, bones mending and shifting into place. It’s quick enough that it doesn’t really hurt, it’s just so alien. His back stops hurting too, the old welts close and the scars smooth out. He touches his cheek. The ugly, jagged scar marring his cheek is  _ gone _ . 

‘What was that?’ he asks. He feels stronger and more awake. 

‘My grace,’ the angel replies, matter-of-factly. ‘Hold on tight.’

Dean wraps his fingers tighter around Castiel’s arm, and his feet leave the ground. It feels like the angel is leaping into the air; the rush of the wind, the speed - Dean barely realizes they’re flying and suddenly, he’s assaulted by sunlight.

Sunlight.


End file.
